It all started about a week ago. I felt “off,” but thought I was just tired from the honeymoon. By Wednesday, when Mr. Right had finally convinced me to go to the doctor, I was in full-fledged misery. I get so nervous when I have to go to the doctor – part of me hopes they don’t accuse me of faking anything, and the other part hopes they don’t find out that I have some sort of exotic and totally embarrassing disease that I won’t be able to tell anyone about.
Which explains why this doctor visit went so… badly. First stop at this doctor is the ever-so-fun pee-in-the-cup test. I was feeling so crummy and was so anxious to see the doctor and get back to a busy day at work, that I got distracted. And went. But not in the cup.
Just as I finished my going, I realized I was STILL HOLDING THE CUP. That I forgot to actually use the cup for the aforementioned purpose. And there was NOTHING left in me. You can imagine my panic. I tried and tried and begged the good Lord to let me go just a little bit more. But nothing. I grabbed my water bottle out of my gigantic-yet-fashionable mom-purse and chugged it, hoping that by some miracle my body would quickly do whatever it does with water to make me need to go to the bathroom. Nothing.
I heard the lab folks open the tiny door to see if I had finished with my “specimen.” After all, I’d been in there several minutes. Nothing. I started to wonder… maybe I could just retrieve a little out of the toilet? Or maybe jumping up and down might help?
I finally managed a minuscule amount, and then found the nurse and explained to her what happened, trying to use a little humor to diffuse the situation.
She didn’t think it was funny. She looked at me like I was an alien.
Luckily, a minuscule amount was plenty. And the doc confirmed that I was indeed sick, doped me up on plenty of meds, and sent me on my way. Yet I got sicker, and sicker, so Friday she switched my meds. And I learned a valuable lesson.
Don’t take new meds for the first time on a hot date with your husband. Especially after eating a hamburger as big as your head. And especially when the side effect of those meds involves nausea. And vomiting.
Mr. Right takes great joy in planning the most fun dates EVER, and Friday night was no exception. He took me to our favorite burger dive M&O (seriously the best burger in the whole world), and then off to the Fort Worth Rodeo. We had to park about a mile away, and I realized on that walk that I wasn’t feeling well. But I was so excited that I thought I’d plug through and the feeling would pass.
It didn’t. It got worse as we hiked up to the very top of the coliseum. As we watched cowboys rope, wrestle, and ride various livestock, I started feeling worse. And worse. And worse. ‘Til Mr. Right looked over at me, about half-way through the show, and said, “I need to take you home – you look like you’re about to pass out.” Which, for the record, that was exactly how I felt, but I kept hoping the passing out feeling would pass, and I could get back to my hot date with my hot husband. Did I mention he was wearing a cowboy hat? (sigh)
So we walked another mile back to the car. At one point, my sweet husband, who’s the most hot-natured person I know, complained about how cold it was–it was below 30 degrees. And I told him that I felt fine, maybe even a bit warm. That’s when he knew I was really sick.
Oh, and I almost puked on his shoes in the parking lot. But I didn’t. Mr. Right piled me into his pickup truck and drove me home. He and I both knew that one bad bump and I’d be throwing up all those meds I’d taken with dinner (along with the greatest burger in the world). He very sweetly moved his cowboy hat out of my lap and onto his head for safe keeping, and suggested I crack the window to allow some fresh air to come in. Which I did…
Did I mention it was about 28 degrees? And we were going 60 on the highway? The more cold air that came in, the better I felt. My feverish self was so hot that the frigid air was a tiny relief. Soon I was practically hanging my head out the window.
My husband, on the other hand, almost froze to death on that 20 minute ride home. But true to his character, he didn’t complain. He just said, “If you had ever told me that YOU would freeze ME out, I never would have believed it!”
Mr. Right got me home, and I ever so gingerly crawled into bed, fully clothed in my best rodeo get-up. Sometimes you’re just too sick to change clothes. And my sweet husband, in a gesture of true romantic chivalry, found a trash can and placed it next to my bed. You know, just in case.
And that’s how my first date as a newlywed ended. No romance, just me curled up in the fetal position, wearing my rodeo clothes. Not exactly the date we had both envisioned… but it made me love him so much more.